


Blue

by sensitivebore



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-14
Updated: 2013-02-14
Packaged: 2017-11-29 06:03:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/683683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sensitivebore/pseuds/sensitivebore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Carson and Hughes, and blue.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blue

He focuses on the color of her eyes. Not the curve of breast or heft of smooth thigh in his hand, not the taste of skin or soft scent that permeates her hair. He concentrates on how the shade shifts and lightens, darkens; how it transmutes from the blue-grey of storming waters to the high cerulean of clear skies. He dare not notice the rise and fall of generous hips, the warm searching lips working over his shoulder, his neck.

It's wrong, perhaps, to try and hide a part of his thoughts away from her during this, during  _them_ , but he feels like it's all he can do to keep some bit of control, some self-possession. If he can train his thoughts to be partially elsewhere while he's falling to gentle pieces on top of her, perhaps it'll be what saves him. Perhaps that small tucked away part will keep him from begging, from crying out, from spilling foolish words in her ear that will change everything between them.

He hasn't yet. The first time he almost did, he almost begged her to marry him, to stay with him, to not leave; almost told her that he loves her, needs her, that he's been waiting so long for her to come to him, to give him permission. Was dangerously close to saying all of that when she had been unable to stay quiet, when she had cried out against his chest, clutched at him with shaking fingers. Almost immediately he had silenced her sounds, but it almost wasn't enough. That sharp sob, those few broken words —  _oh I need, please, you, oh, please, now_  —had spilled out before he could cover her mouth with his, before he could push them back into her throat. He had looked at her eyes then, had lost himself in the depths, and that color had saved him.

So he thinks of it now, lets the hues and light shift in his mind like a kaleidoscope, like a prism, and she moves beneath him and he moves on top of her, slow and undulating with deep, hard strokes, and he breathes deeply, inhales and exhales and she traces his face in the dark with warm hands, draws his head down for a kiss.

They don't talk about it. They hadn't talked about it the first time, before or after, nor the second, and they won't talk about it this time. There's no words for some things, and that's fine, that's right. He feels no shame or fear or regret, only a sense of finally being complete, finally being home, and he thinks perhaps she feels the same. She must; her hands are always so tender, her kisses so soft on his chin and his cheeks, her legs always embrace him with such strong devotion. No words. Not any they can say.

Her body is writhing under him now, she's pushing up with harder motions, her legs are locking around his hips and he kisses her, kisses her long and thoroughly, kisses her through her climax as she shakes and arches against him, gratefully swallows her moans and gasps and pleas. He follows her almost immediately, and it's stronger this time than last and he pushes into her as deep as he can go, pulls at her loose, tangled hair, and right before he slips over the edge he reaches desperately for something to hold onto, something to keep him from going too far, from saying the wrong things, from calling out her name and his words of love, and all he can find is that color again, that ocean that threatens to pull him under and make him happy to drown.

_Blue._


End file.
